


White Snow White Sand

by Honeyedwine



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Polyamory Negotiations, Romance, Season/Series 08, Smut, season 8 AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-03-13 05:22:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18934309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Honeyedwine/pseuds/Honeyedwine
Summary: "I am scared Torgo Nudho. Does that make me weak? I fear death in ways that you do not.”“I have told you that I fear never again seeing Missandei from the island of Naath. Does that sound like a man ready to jump into death’s embrace? Death is nothing if not the final goodbye. I want to be with you. I want to keep you safe. I want to take you home someday, my love. I will fight and win so I can take you home.”or a season 8 au from missandei's pov with heavy emphasis on her relationship with grey and their new friend qhono





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this chapter is a prologue of sorts  
> see notes at the end so you can understand the changes to canon that i've made

They sail with their large fleet flying under the red three headed dragon. Missandei thought that the salt water air was cold and unforgiving but as they reach land and begin their march she realizes she has underestimated the tales of a land of snow and ice. She has known the chill of sleeping barely clothed at the foot of her master’s bed. She has known numbness from countless hours standing posed just so translating and interpreting for the masters. She has felt the coolness of the walls in Meereen’s Great Pyramid. Nothing compares to the way the cold seeps into her bones making them feel brittle and weak, the way her muscles feel numb in the onslaught of Northern winds. She wears leathers finely crafted to her body with ample insulation and fur linings, yet she cannot escape the chill. This place is harsh and unwelcoming, the terrain rough with hard packed snow and ice. All of the white, so much white it’s blinding. She’s never seen snow before and despite how she abhors feeling like she will never be warm again the white of it reminds her faintly of Naath’s beaches. The sands there a similarly brilliant white, she recalls how the sun reflected off that beautiful white same as it shines against this snow. She tries to see beauty in it, this strange place. The country of her Queen’s birth, the country her Queen seeks to conquer and protect from the threat of the undead. Yet, it is not her country. She misses Naath and the more immediate familiarity of Essos. But valar dohaeris. All men must serve. And she chooses to serve her Queen so she suffers the cold with as much dignity as she can manage. She rides beside Grey Worm, and though he is not a particularly fine horsemen himself he helps keep her steady through the long journey. 

“Unsullied have no use for horses” he told her as their Dothraki companion, Qhono, laughed beside them.  
“Every man has use for horses, you are not a man if you cannot ride, friend. This is known.”

Their queen rides just ahead with Jon Snow, she rides with the grace of a queen, a Khaleesi. She lets her body ebb and flow with the moment of her horse, the Dothraki way. Qhono looks at their queen worshipfully. Dany once told her that he was the one to bring her to Khal Moro, that she even had to feel the sting of his whip on her back. “The dothraki value strength, I did not appear strong then, they see me for what I am now. They respect me for what I am now.” It is hard to know he is that person but also someone who calls her friend. He has changed much she thinks, in these past few months. Now he a lieutenant in her army he leads Dany’s khalasar into battle, he takes much inspiration from their queen, he teaches his fellow dothraki that there is a way to be strong and still respect the weak. In quiet moments seated beside her and Grey Worm he has said, “The Dothraki way is violent, it has always been. We are a warlike people. War is our way. I do not wish this to change. Still there is a better way than pillaging through innocent village after village until we fall. There is no honor in this. I will show them a better way when we return to the Great Grass Sea. I wish to see Vaes Dothrak again. After we serve our Khaleesi.” 

It is nice she thinks, to consider an after. After we defeat the dead. After Daenerys has the throne. After they go home...after seems a lifetime away as they trek through endless ice and snow. 

“Missandei,” Daenerys beckons her to the Royal Tent as they rest in camp for the night. “We should reach Winterfell during tomorrow’s ride, my friend, how do you fair?”  
“I am well, your Grace. The riding is difficult but I have Grey Worm, though he’s not much better, and Qhono helping me.” 

Daenerys gestures her into a seat and moves behind her to begin braiding her hair, a nightly ritual where they take care of each other. Finding comfort in the attentive hands of a loving friend.  
“You know we never spoke of the...many things you and Grey Worm got up to. Will I ever get to hear the details? And I see you two have grown close to Qhono of late--”, she trails of her voice heavy with insinuation.

“I-- do not know what you speak of, Qhono is simply an entertaining traveling companion and I’m teaching him the common tongue. I am with Torgo Nudho, in all things. You must know this.” Missandei stutters out turning to look at her, heat rising in her cheeks. Qhono is of a form, she is not blind as all that but Grey Worm is her heart. That the queen could ever doubt this is mildly insulting.

“Of that there was never any doubt, still I find you three often huddled in intimate conversation. A strange grouping, but welcome. Where we are going they don’t believe they care much for us foreigners, I’m glad to see my people bonding. Being close so we stand united not just by my armies love of me but love for their fellow man.” Her eyes are bright, shiny with idealism and Missandei grins at that. The ruthless Dragon Queen breathless at the thought of friendships developing in her armies. 

Daenerys shifts her so Missandei’s head is turned straight again. Gently she parts Missandei’s hair and begins softly adding oil and using a comb to ease the tangles she encounters. “The cold air has not been kind to your hair, darling,” Missandei winces thinks of how dried out her hair has been during this journey. Dany scrunches some oil through the back and finishes the two elaborate braids that she will wind and twist and pin to create a head band of sorts to keep Missandei’s curls from her eyes on tomorrow’s ride. 

“Thank you, Your Grace. Shall I do you next?” Missandei inquires.  
“No go rest, return to your love and your...companion. I need to speak with Jon Snow about what to expect on our arrival.”  
“Goodnight Dany.”  
“Night darling,” Dany returns, brow furrowed with worries she doesn’t seem inclined to disclose. 

Heading back to her tent she finds Grey Worm dishing out orders to his subordinates, some issue with the encampment while Qhono hovers nearby as he often does with his own men. Grey Worm stands with his feet planted firmly, arms behind his back, head straight, commanding as always. The lines of his body rigid and disciplined as he deals with his men with competent ease. She shivers, underdressed without her cloak on, but she can’t help but stare a bit at her man in action. Qhono notices her first. “Missandei! Come meet my brothers.” he shouts in accented common tongue.

She wants to go to her tent with Grey Worm in tow, but he’s occupied with real duties so she approaches Qhono. Bringing her arms up to hug herself against the cold she hopes this won’t take long, her conversation with Dany has stirred some unease in her. She just wants to sleep. “Hello Qhono” she responds, her teeth chattering a bit. Qhono immediately places his braided leathers on her and brings her to sit by their fire. “This is Jhago and Toro, blood of my blood meet Missandei of Naath” he says this in Dothraki gesturing lightly between the three. She waves shyly and her gaze turns to Grey Worm again.  
“He is a busy man huh?” he swings an arm around her and she would be startled but he is the affectionate type, she knows there’s nothing behind it.  
“I suppose he is.”

She chats with them for a while, enjoying their rumbling laughter and jovial attitudes. Enjoying the warmth of their bodies huddled close to the fire and the wicked jokes they share. She is tired though. Just as she feels herself dozing off Grey Worm approaches from behind her. He sits at her back, moving her hair off her neck and planting soft kisses there. “Hello Missandei”, he says.  
“Hello, my love.” She smiles though he can’t see her face. She notices Qhono looking at her with a strange expression on his face but dismisses it turning to Grey Worm.  
“I’m tired”, she says to him.  
“Then let us go to our tent.” he stands extending a hand down to help her. Gripping Qhono's leathers lightly she hands them back to him as she prepares to leave.  
“May I ride at your sides tomorrow, my friends?” Qhono says suddenly, seeming strangely uncertain.

“Of course, sleep well friend,” Grey Worm says and Missandei smiles nodding along.

They return to their tent hand in hand speaking of nothing but the minutiae of the past few days. Patrol. When he went on patrol. What he saw on patrol. She speaks to him of council meetings and Tyrion's many funny jokes. It reminds her of their tumuluous early days in Meereen when they were still new and awkward together. Their tent is spacious and Dany has supplied them with rugs and ample blankets to make the night bearable. Grey Worm starts poking at the small fire in the center of the tent, making sure there’s enough wood to burn through the night. Missandei turns to Grey, her eyes low and sleepy. She reaches out blindly groping for his hands and when she snags them tumbles both of their bodies haphazardly onto their bed of pelts and fur. She gazes at him, his expression a bit dazed. 

“What is the rush?” he says.  
“I want you to hold me, please?” she requests softly. 

She so tired, tired and cold. She’s sick of the fucking cold. And neither Dany’s gentle fingers carding through her hair, or Qhono’s warm laughter are enough to soothe the icy fear that settles in her. That uneasy feeling from early has returned. He unfastens her leathers removing only her outermost layers and does the same for himself. They lay facing one another under the furs, legs entangled, his arms around her and cushioning her head. She feels the warmth of his body sinking into her and she sighs.

“According to our Queen we shall reach Winterfell on the morrow.”  
“Yes, I have heard the same from my scouts.” he replies easily, brushing a finger over her cheek.  
“Are you not worried?”  
“All I do is worry for my men and Missandei. Is that not obvious?”  
“I fear what we will encounter in Winterfell. I fear the dead. Death has many faces they say and I don’t want to see this one. Yet, we march straight toward the dead and we hope our armies and three dragons will be enough. I am scared Torgo Nudho. Does that make me weak? I fear death in ways that you do not.”

“I have told you that I fear never again seeing Missandei from the island of Naath. Does that sound like a man ready to jump into death’s embrace? Death is nothing if not the final goodbye. I want to be with you. I want to keep you safe. I want to take you home someday, my love. I will fight and win so I can take you home.”


	2. Chapter 2

She wakes when Grey Worm hops out of their bed at dawn, he exits the tent before she’s conscious enough to even bid him farewell. With the warmth of his body gone she shuffles into the space that he’s vacated. It’s warm and it smells like him. Like the mint he compulsively chews during the day, and like smoke from the fire he tended before bed. She breathes in deep trying to keep the scent embedded in her memory. 

“Did you miss me so? I’ve only been gone ten minutes,” he teases standing in the entrance of their tent. He carries food with him, warm bread, cheese and some fruit she thinks. “I went to see that my men start breaking down camp and preparing to ride, I saw Qhono and he gave me this for us. Says we need our strength in this cold.” 

What is it with this Qhono? He’s everywhere, she thinks. He’s almost as present and constant as Grey Worm himself, she supposes this is what friendship with one’s equals truly is like. She rises from the furs only to realize her slip has fallen exposing her chest to the cool air. Grey Worm stares and she poses for him. 

“You like?” 

“You know I do, please get dressed so we can eat without temptation.” He replies sneaking glances at her while he rips the bread and cheese into equal portions. 

“What does the day hold?”

“Our arrival in Winterfell, more precarious travel on horseback. More Qhono dogging our every step.” 

“So you too have noticed it? His attentions of late.”

“Yes. He likes us I think.” Grey Worm admits shoving bits of cheese and bread into his mouth. His usual blank expression in place. Typically his eyes speak the words that do not pass his lips, the words not expressed through his face. Yet now even his eyes hold no clue to his true feelings on the matter. 

She nibbles at the apple slices from the plate and lays broken bits of cheese on her portion of bread. “He likes us? Of course he does, we are companions are we not?” 

He smiles briefly at her indignant tone, “Yes we are companions. Do you see the way he looks at you? Or me for that matter. I believe he seeks more than riding company and pleasantries at the war council meetings.”

“You believe he wants to lie with us? Would you want him to--” 

“Commander! The Queen requests you. She says to bring Missandei and Qhono,” one of Grey Worm’s messengers calls through the thin walls of the tent.

“Another time my love, get dressed,” Grey Worm whispers. Rising, he grabs a piece of cheese from her plate. Popping it in his mouth with a small grin, he fetches his various knives, tucking them along his person. All artfully concealed save one small dagger that he leaves exposed at the hip. 

He leaves drawing more cold air into the tent and Missandei hurries to dress, the cool bite of the outside beginning to seep into her bones once more. She washes with quick movements and begins to don her many layers to keep the frostbite away. The braids Dany gave her still look suitable and she applies some oil to her thick curls. Her hair hates these frigid climes. It doesn’t take her long to head out and idly she wonders what Dany needs so early. She grabs the last of her breakfast to eat as she walks to the War Tent.

She walks through the Unsullied parts of the encampment watching them efficiently breakdown their tents and pack their food. They move like well oiled machines, perfect economy of motion. Still Missandei hears laughter here and there, small grumblings about the cold. She even sees Tulip, one of Grey Worm’s associates who waves at her as she passes. The masters took much from the Unsullied, names included, and after their liberation many chose new ones. Beautiful names that remind them of their worth. She has met many called Rose, and Orchid, and Violet. Thousands of flowers and jewels and gems litter Dany’s armies. Then there are those like Grey Worm who chose to keep the name they had on the day they achieved their freedom. 

The men wave to her or throw brief smiles in her direction. They know she stands at the hand of their Queen as an advisor and holds the heart of their commander. A position of much privilege she knows. 

“Missandei!” a voice bellows behind her. Qhono stands a ways off. She turns to him with a blush on her cheeks thinking of her conversation with Grey. Grey is right behind him herding him along as though he’s a shepherd. She takes a good look at him, his black hair pulled back in a messy braid that nears his waist. No defeats is what a long braid means on a Dothraki warrior. He’s tall, quite a bit taller than Grey Worm and herself. Though covered in traditional painted leathers and furs she can tell that he must be muscular. At least a bit. Grey Worm carries himself with grace, his steps feather light.The lines of his body scream command. Which is to be expected of a general she supposes. There is something in Qhono’s steps that say power and he staunters confidently through the encampment. 

When she sees the two together, similarly intense stares trained on her she blushes. Great now she’s comparing them. What is she doing.

“The Queen awaits, let us make haste.” she says when they get closer.

As they all enter the War Tent, she feels Grey Worm’s fingertips gently interlace with her own as he stands beside her. She can feel the heat of Qhono’s wide body behind them. She wonders what this must look like in Dany’s imaginative mind. 

A gust of coldness follows in their wake and the Tent’s occupants look up at their arrival. 

“Hello, Your Grace and Your Grace”, Missandei greets Jon and Dany with a slight bow and goes to stand at Dany’s side with Varys and Tyrion. Qhono inclines his head with a brief “Khaleesi” and takes a spot close to the map laid out on the table.

“My Queen”, Grey Worm states plainly. Jon looks on with a smirk at the subtle slight. Missandei likes Jon, he’s of an easy nature when it comes to matters of court and titles. It makes these meetings a good deal less awkward than they could be. 

Ser Davos and Ser Jorah are off to the side whispering about something or another she hears the word “scale” mentioned often. Perhaps something to do with Jorah’s miraculous recovery. While Varys and Tyrion talk of ships and and grain and other supply matters. The reason for this gathering isn’t immediately clear and Dany sits at the center of it all rubbing her temples. Missandei begins to feel a bit redundant in the room, what does she have to report or confer about? 

Daenerys looks up and smiles at her friend. “ How did you sleep? I saw you come in with--”  
“Your Grace if I may,” Jon starts. 

Daenerys turns to him slowly, a slight twitch in her eye.  
“Yes?”

“My sister, Sansa, she will be displeased with your dragons.”

“Displeased? Did you not come to receive my aid expressly because of my dragons? I have come to the North with my armies and my dragons without requiring the North to bend to me at your request and she is displeased with my children?” 

Ser Davos looks at Jon like one would a particularly worrisome child. “My Queen, what King Jon means to say is that there is some worry about the food supply and it has reached Sansa’s ears that your Dragons have large appetites, if it does not offend we would just like to go over the numbers of cattle and grain you bring with you.”

“Please confer with Lord Tyrion on the matter, Ser Davos. Your Grace”, she says inclining her head to Jon with a slight grimace. “Is that why you requested this meeting? To go over the numbers?” 

“Not entirely, My Queen.” Jon says. “I have my um friend Tormund coming from the Wall with the Free Folk to aid our cause. The Free Folk are just like us Northerners, their ancestors were the First Men same as ours. Still the Northerner Lords despise them, distrust them, consider them to be savages. Men of our own continent. I say this to say that the reception of your troops will likely be a chilly one. I apologize for their intolerance in advance and I will do everything to ensure your armies are treated with the respect they deserve. I wished to inform the representatives of all groups so you can perhaps warn your people on what to expect here.”

Dany doesn’t appear taken aback at the idea that they will not be met with an adoring crowd. Resigned, she smiles and thanks him for his candor and foresight. She orders that Qhono and Grey Worm prepare the troops for the days march and she commands Ser Jorah, Varys and Tyrion to attend Jon and his people to share the numbers of troops, bed rolls, rations etc. 

Missandei tunes out a bit and contemplates. Jon is a quiet man, rather stoic and brooding. This is the most that Missandei has heard him say beyond his favorite refrain “Winter is Coming for us all”. Still the concept strikes her. They are marching towards death itself for these people and they harbor ill feelings for what reasons Missandei cannot begin to fathom. She imagines the fights the dothraki may engage in, a boisterous people. A culture where a misplaced look can be considered disrespect. Oh this will be a long day.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missandei is uncomfortable in the north, two queens meet one another, and qhono is still crushing hard on grey and missy. when will they finally make a move on him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things to remember:  
> 1\. the wight hunt never happened so the wall was never destroyed by undead viserion.  
> 2\. the remaining crows and the free folk are already headed to winterfell per jon's instructions  
> 3\. also i picture missandei's advising style as very quiet and subtle. she observes everything, the interactions between people, unspoken alliances, what they say, what's implied tone inflection etc. and she uses her observantions to help daenerys make sound political decisions. thats why in this fic it seems like missandei notices everything. its her job basically

The meeting is hours and miles behind them. Grey Worm has spoken to the Unsullied about the hostility they may face, they took the news stone faced as ever. Still she see uncertainty in their eyes. The anger there. 

She feels it too. The slavers were fond of capturing those from the neighboring lands of Naath and the Summer Isles. Once her former master Kraznays said, “This makes it easy to tell slave from master. You islanders all have the same wooly hair, the same brown skin. It makes it so simple to put you in your place.”

Are the Northerners such people? To vilify her and her ilk over something as petty as the place they were born? The color of their skin? The texture of their hair? Missandei hopes this is not true. Jon seems a good person, he cannot come from such a backward place. Still she supposes a land where children cannot take the name of their parents because of the circumstances of their birth is definitely not a particularly tolerant sort of place. 

She overheard Qhono telling his men to behave before the three left to join the front of the procession, “These pink men will not like us. We are too strong. We are too beautiful. They will be envious, we must not stoop to their level, blood of my blood. We do this for our Khaleesi.”

She smiled at his explanation, beautiful indeed. Now he rocks in his saddle riding to the left of her with Grey Worm. He talks incessantly sometimes in Dothraki, other times in broken common tongue. He is peppering Grey Worm with questions, probing him for more information about Unsullied training methods when the walls of Winterfell come into view. 

It is an unassuming place, stout with rounded towers and high walls. It’s grey, so impossibly grey and dull, she thinks, compared to the vast brilliant whiteness of the icy terrain that surrounds it. The Great Pyramid of Meereen puts this place to shame. She notices Jon slowing his horse until he rides directly beside her. 

“Beautiful is it not, my lady?” Jon Snow says to her.

Not the words she would use but she deflects, “There is much beauty to be found here in the North.” Lying through chattering teeth, as her thighs ache from the feel of the saddle, and her fingers feel frozen where they grasp the reins. 

He chuckles clearly not fooled by her circumvention, “It is an acquired taste. I will grant you that,” he reaches into his saddle bag and reaches over to give her something. “Gloves better suited for you.” The pair she currently wear are leather finely crafted yet thin with a fur lining, but the ones he offers gloves are massive. Fully furred inside and out, she slips her hands in the gloves quickly and sighs with relief as feeling returns to her fingers. 

“Thank you, Your Grace.” 

“Welcome to Winterfell, Missandei of Naath.” He rides off to rejoin Daenerys and her queen’s guard. He has been so kind to her since their conversation long ago at Dragonstone.  
“Daenerys is the Queen we choose,” she had said then, and Jon chose her too. It’s funny how words have meaning, how impactful they can be. It is times such as this that she is thankful she has 19 languages with which she can speak her own truths freely now. 

They process through the surrounding town at midday with little fanfare as Northerners look on. They line the streets, varying expressions of disgust, fear and awe on their faces. The dragons fly above them, hovering, perhaps noticing Daenerys’ unease. Missandei sees Dany turn her head and smile at a little girl only for the child to run away. A chilled reception indeed. 

She understands how strange new things can be, how they must look so different than anyone these people have ever seen. She understands that, she can appreciate the gravity of that. But the way they stare so openly even as she looks back at them. They gawk as if she and her people are wild beasts and not human beings a few shades darker than their pale hue. Qhono bristles as a man makes some sign toward him with his hands. Missandei presumes it’s of a religious nature. Perhaps something to ward off evil. 

They are here to save these people are they not? Has some ill befallen them and they forget that they sought our help? Missandei glances at Grey Worm and her inner turmoil and annoyance is reflected in his eyes. 

They reach the castle what feels like an eternity later and Missandei dismounts as gracefully as she can. She wobbles a bit with he first few steps and Qhono is there with an arm on her shoulders steadying her. She looks into his eyes for a moment and he stares back intently, unguarded. She shakes herself a bit and begins walking as Grey Worm beckons them both and they fall in step beside him, following their Queen to meet the welcoming party. 

Jon is there greeting his family, speaking lowly in Sansa’s ear as they share a hug. He kneels a bit to greet Bran putting them at eye level, “Look how big you’ve gotten, you’re a man now.”  
Jon smiles at him and Bran smiles back. “Not quite,” he replies vaguely.

Jon looks puzzled and glances at Sansa in question. She gives a subtle shake of her head and moves to greet the rest of the group.

“Winterfell is yours, Your Grace.” Sansa Stark says, her tone is not particularly pleased nor as deferential as her words would imply. 

Daenerys simply smiles in that serene disarming way she has, her eye crinkling a bit at the corners. “Your brother has told me so much about you, you’re more beautiful than I could have ever imagined.”

Sansa’s red hair whips behind her as she stands tall in her Stark colors, she towers over Daenerys and carries herself with the poise of a queen. It becomes quickly apparent to Missandei that whatever titles Jon may hold, Sansa is the true power in the North.

“Thank you, Your Grace” Sansa replies passively. 

Tyrion steps forward, “Hello my lady wife.”

“Hello husband.”

The two grin ruefully at each other and Missandei glances at Grey and Qhono. They both look equally puzzled. Jon eyes this interaction with distaste and walks off to greet a man across the courtyard.

“Let me show you to your quarters, Your Grace. I am sure you would like to rest after a long day’s ride.” Sansa says turning back to Daenerys.

“Actually I’d like to confer with you Lady Sansa, if I may before I rest. Missandei can you please meet me in my rooms when you’re done here.”

“Yes, my Queen” Missandei replies. Done here? What is there for her to do?

“Of course, my Queen.” says Sansa as she offers her arm and the two queens walk off together leaving the rest of them standing in slightly awkward silence. 

Tyrion breaks the quiet and approaches Bran Stark, “My Lord, you have grown considerably since we last met. This chair it is even better fashioned than the saddle I invented for you ages ago. Who made this?”

Bran’s eyes look vacant, like maybe he’s not completely present for a moment and then brightness returns to them and he shares tales of old Targaryen kings from whom Bran drew his inspiration. There’s something a bit off about the slow, detached way he has of speaking, but Missandei tries not to be rude and stare. The two revel in the mechanics and the craftsmanship while everyone else looks on.

Jon still remains across the courtyard speaking to a group in black cloaks gesturing to the wagons of dragonglass when a large man covered in white fur and leather accosts him. His hair and beard are a wild fiery tangle and he appears more bear than man.  
“My little crow,” the man bellows, practically knocking Jon over with the force of his hug. Jon buries his face in the man’s neck and they hug as if they haven’t seen each other in years. Maybe they haven’t, Missandei notices an intimacy there. Is this the friend Tormund he spoke of? 

Ser Davos confers with two Northmen off to the side and then returns with them in tow. 

 

“Qhono, Grey Worm, my friends these gentlemen will show you where your soldiers can make camp.”

“Aye” Grey Worm says and pulls Qhono along with him when the man stays planted in his spot. Oh they will have to quicken the pace with their lessons Qhono must be a bit lost in the language. Grey plants a kiss on her cheek as he passes. Grey Worm muttering to him in dothraki, "Come we must attend to the troops."

Qhono turns to her and says in broken common tongue, “Missandei not come with?”

“I must find our Khaleesi to stand at her side. I shall find you later.”

“No, I find you.” his stare is intent, full of purpose. He licks his lips a bit assessing her reaction.

“Yes...alright.” Missandei replies slowly, she looks at Grey Worm to find him smirking at them both. He quickly schools his face into his stony commander mask as the Northmen begin giving them instructions. The two walk away from her and Missandei is left feeling quite out of place. Tyrion and Bran talk amongst themselves, Varys has disappeared as he often does. Ser Jorah and Ser Davos have their heads pressed together muttering quickly about what she cannot say.

“My lady,” a shy voice says. Missandei turns and finds a slight girl who can’t be more than thirteen beckoning her. “Your Queen requests you.” Already?


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missandei and Dany talk politics and qhono makes his intentions clear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> change to canon: dany agrees to help the north in exchange for a political alliance with a sovereign north similar to her deal with yara and theon. also yara is not captured by euron her fleet is not destroyed, she has control of the iron islands now and sends theon with ships, supplies and soldiers to the north at dany's request

“Your Grace?” Missandei calls opening the doors to Dany’s new chamber within the castle. It’s large, not quite as fine as her Meereenese quarters but spacious. The wood floors a dark dull grey. Missandei passes by the large hearth to go further into the room. The fire roars and crackles full to the brim with kindling. Finally she spots Daenerys seated by her window overlooking the courtyard. 

“Hello Missandei, come sit with me.” She reaches out to grab Missandei’s gloved hand, guiding her to share the plush bench with her Queen. 

“How was your counsel with Lady Sansa?”

“It went as well as can be expected. She does not trust that I am here solely to help. She believes Jon bent the knee because he calls me Queen. I know it’s hard to imagine but why would I not wish to save the continent I have intentions to rule?”

“Jon has not told her that you have conceded the North?”

“He appears to have said as much yet she remains unimpressed.The North remembers she said. They remember my father the Mad King Aerys, he murdered many members of House Stark. My brother Rhaegar kidnapped their aunt Lyanna. It is no surprise the name Targaryen does not inspire faith. Still I am unused to the cold reception. I have been Mhysa, a mother for so long in Essos I have forgotten. I have no love here.” 

“You come with your dragons and your legions to save their North and the rest of the continent. You will earn at the very least their respect if not their adoration.”

“Yes, perhaps.”

“Your Grace, I am sure you have noticed already but Sansa is the true power here. Meaning no disrespect to his Grace, King Jon, but believe he may be more of a figure head. This country is patriarchal as most are, Jon is a warrior. A competent one if Davos is to be believed. He is dedicated to the north and loved by the soldiers. It makes sense that the Lords crowned him.”

“Meaning what? That Sansa is jealous of her brother whom, if our conversation was any indication, she loves very much.” 

“I just mean to say that fostering a friendship with Sansa would be to your advantage. If-no when, we win the Great War we will still need allies to fight Queen Cersei. Our political alliance with the independent North will be stronger if we win Sansa. With House Tyrell destroyed we need all the support we can gather.”

Daenerys chuckles glancing at Missandei and Missandei looks up confused. Dany waves away her questioning look. “I’m just thinking that I should have made you my Hand and not Lord Tyrion.”

Missandei smiles, “I am beyond flattered your Grace. Still I believe you made a sound decision. You need someone who knows Westeros. Who knows its people, its nobility in ways I do not. If I may ask, not Ser Jorah? Is he not your oldest friend?” 

Daenerys turns from looking out the window to face her. “Ser Jorah loves me, he loves me in ways I cannot love him. He has been loyal, but he as also betrayed my trust many a time. You have been there as I’ve exiled him not for the first time. I love him, in my own way, but not the way he wants. I have never know relief like the moment he told me he was cured. He is my family so I forgive his many past transgressions, but I cannot allow him such esteemed position.” She looks down shaking her head slightly, her eyes sad. Full to the brim with old wounds.

“I am sorry your Grace.”

“Ah do not apologize my friend, it was a good question.You always ask the right questions. Must you be so formal always? Meeting adjourned.”, she says the corners of her mouth tug up in a small smile. “Have they shown you to your quarters yet?”

“Yes Dany, I am a few doors down. Grey Worm has declined his own room and will stay with me.”

“Was there any doubt? You have stayed together in the encampment and many nights on Dragonstone I recall the sound of your footsteps sneaking to his room.”

Missandei laughs, delighted and a touch embarrassed she brings a hand to cover her grin. “There was never any doubt. Still it is nice.”

“And what of Qhono?”

“Uh what of him?”

“He appears as if your shadow. The man is infatuated with you, can you not see this?” Dany says incredulously. 

“He is infatuated with Grey Worm, he simply appreciates our lessons in the common tongue. It is nothing.”

“As you say. Sansa mentioned that tonight there will be a gathering with the northern Lords and Ladies this evening in the Great Hall. I wish to rest but can you send for Lord Tyrion?”

“Of course, Dany. I will tell Tysha to come help you get ready when the time is near. Rest well.”

Missandei exits, shutting the door behind her and heading to look for a messenger. She meanders slowly through the castle's halls trying to recall the way when a voice calls to her from behind. It is Tyrion waving her down, he appears a bit lost himself.  
“Oh Lord Tyrion, our Queen requests your presence in her chambers for a moment.”

“Ah and where might I find her?”  
“Down this hall and then to the right. Her door is the third on the left.”

“Thank you.” He hustles away seeming a bit distracted but Missandei puts it from her mind and goes in search of Grey Worm.

She heads to the courtyard deciding to brave the cold once more hoping to find someone that might know Grey Worm’s whereabouts but all she finds are northern soldiers training, wagons being unloaded and a sea of unfamiliar faces. Just when she thinks to return to the castle walls she feels a hand on her shoulder.

“Missandei. You see, I find you, just like I say.” Qhono says smiling down at her as she turns towards him. 

“Qhono, hello, how are things with the encampment?”

“The men complain of the cold. We camp near the North people. They no like us.”

“”They do not like you’” she corrects. He repeats the phrasing to himself under his breath.  
“Did something happen?” She reaches out to touch him as if to verify that he’s okay. Her hand lands on his chest, adorned heavily with furs, leathers and some metalwork he hangs around him like a necklace. The bells in his hair chime as he tilts his head toward her. 

“They stare much but say nothing. Afraid I think. Does Missandei worry for me?” He comes closer, bringing his hand to her chin tilting her head up so she can look in his eyes.

“Of course, you are my friend.” 

“Friend.” He repeats, looking at her intently. “I court you. You know this, yes?”

"You are trying to court me?" Heat rises in her cheeks and she tries to find it in her to be angry or embarrased Like she should be, but mostly she just feels pleased, if a bit confused.

"Yes I court you. You accepted my gift, the horse I bring you. I thought this to mean-"

She cuts him off, “What of Grey Worm? You plan to steal me from him? To run away with me on your horse?”

“I plan to have you both. I give him horse also.”

“Both?” her voice a strained whisper. She knew the two were close, she knew the three of them spent much time together. Enjoyable time full of laughter and subtle touches and intense looks, but they meant nothing. They are friends. 

“Yes.” He says plainly as if it’s so glaringly obvious. “You are surprised by this? I do not understand, but I give you time to think.” He walks off just as suddenly as he approached. She’s lost, so lost. Of course Daenerys insinuated and Grey Worm joked about it, but it is true that he likes her? Likes them, she corrects herself. Them. She does not know what to do with this so she ignores it and heads back to the castle to find her room. She will find Grey later, for now she must rest.

 

The next time she sees Grey that day is much later at the gathering with the Northern Lords. She assumes he’s been busy setting the encampment to rights. Doing what he does best as Daenerys’ Master of War. She spent her day resting and keeping the Queen company.Then she sees him walk into the Great Hall with a small contingent of Unsullied and Dothraki behind him, Qhono by his side. The two approach to stand with her behind Queen Daenerys where she sits at the high table with the Starks. Their guards dispersing to the corners of the room. 

“My Lords and My Lady,” King Jon starts gesturing to a young girl who can’t be more than ten and two, “We have called you all here to celebrate the arrival of Queen Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen. She brings her legions and her dragons to help us fight the Night King. We owe her our thanks.”

“We named you King in the North! So you go South to bend the knee to a foreign queen?” A voice shouts, the little girl from before. Her family crest a bear. She must be of House Mormont like Ser Jorah.

“Queen Daenerys has conceded the North to us, she will not try to wrest control. The North will remain independent.”

“What of her army of barbarians and eunuchs? What of our food stores?” a lord calls out, his voice feeble and his beard pure white. Sansa turns to look at Jon, a smug smile gracing her lips. 

“Your Grace,” Daenerys interjects. “If I may?”

“Of course.” he responds retaking her seat.

“My former allies the Tyrells were brutally slaughtered by the Lannisters. They pillaged the lands of the Reach and had taken all the food stores there. Over a thousand wagons loaded with stolen goods. I have since seized those supplies and done away with a good portion of the Lannister army. The Greyjoys, who should arrive within the next few days, bring a shipment here to supply us. Our common enemy is the dead. I am here to protect this land and protect my alliance with a sovereign North. Do not condescend my armies as they are prepared to sacrifice their lives to help you save your home. Your hostility is misplaced, my Lord.” She sits and the assembled crowd grumbles but no more protestations come from the congregation.

“And what of your dragons?” Sansa questions.

“What of them?”

“What will they eat? How can we ensure the safety of our people with three grown dragons circling Winterfell?”

“My dragons are not interested in human flesh, they will eat livestock. They are of a large appetite but I have prepared for that. They will not destroy anything, they will not harm anyone. They are my children. They listen to my commands, Lady Sansa. I hope this assures you.” 

She smiles at Daenerys but it does not quite reach her eyes. Daenerys return the false smile and turns to Missandei, Grey and Qhono. 

“Go. Sit. Eat.” Dany says. 

Eager for the opportunity to sit Missandei snags Grey Worm’s hand and drags them to a table. Qhono follows close behind. Tyrion sits at the one the choose. He shares it with Lady Brienne who Missandei believes is Lady Sansa’s guard. A young man sits with her, dark of hair with a kind face. He smiles at Missandei when she sits. Grey Worm sits beside to her right and Qhono to her left. 

“I have missed you today,” Grey Worm whispers. 

“Where were you?”

“The Unsullied officers requested a meeting. They want to train the northerners in our way. We saw them training and their style is...sloppy. They fight good, with passion but too much as individuals. Strong united force is better. Unsullied way is better.”

“So you will train my people?” Qhono speaks up.

“Your people need only small improvement, I will give you the drills tomorrow.”

Missandei watches Qhono watching Grey Worm, she sees something in his eyes. Respect? Adoration? Lust? Perhaps all three. She finds herself lost in thought as she nibbles at the food provided for them. She’s fascinated by the concept. The three of them, together. She can’t imagine how it would work. Well she can imagine the three of them limbs tangled on top of furs, she can picture sweat slicked muscles and cries of pleasure…

She feels a hand grace her inner thigh and turns to look at Grey Worm, her pupils blown. 

“Are you alright?” he asks quietly. Qhono sneaks glances at them while Tyrion engages him in some kind of drinking game. When had that started?

“I’m just...tired”, she lies, poorly if Grey Worm's disbelieving face is any indication.

“Are you sure,” he questions checking his surroundings to ensure their dinner companions are well distracted. He slips his hand to the apex of her thighs, cupping her sex. “Can I help you with something?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is just a short smut chapter. they fuck and talk about qhono ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is my first time writing smut so if its bad apologies, i'm trying my best lol p.s this work is totally unbeta'd so idk maybe it's shit. but if you're still reading thanks!!

She drops the last of her clothing in a pile by the table in their room. “I’m ready my love” she says sitting on the table spreading her legs just so. He unconsciously moves toward her. He hasn’t touched her in at least two weeks. 

“I think we should talk.” he says smiling from his seat next to the fireplace. 

She closes her legs and rolls her eyes. “About what? Tyrion’s drunken games? The northmen’s battle strategy? Oooh wait did you see Jon huddled in the corner with his man Tormund? They make an excellent pair do they not?”

“I meant about Qhono.”

“Qhono. Must every discussion between myself and another be about the man?”, she moves to get up and fetch a robe. Tying the thick robe around her she goes over to the bed. She flops down on the lush mattress and sprawls out in dramatic fashion, her legs dangling and he moves to stand near the foot of the bed eyeing her fondly. He grabs her foot and drags her closer to the edge.

“Sit up. Sit up. Look at me Missandei. He likes you.” 

“And he likes you”, she counters avoiding his eyes. 

“So what can we do about that?”

“ What is there to do besides let him pine and eventually lose interest,” Missandei says pragmatically from her prone position. 

“Tell me you don’t like him.”

“I don’t”

“Missandei come, sit up look at me please.” 

She moves to sit at the end of the bed staring up at him. 

“I do not love him like i do you” 

“This is not what I ask”

“Yes, fine yes i like him.” She dips her head, she can’t bear the intensity of his gaze. “He is muscled and attractive, occasionally he’s funny, he’s intelligent enough to pick up languages quickly and leads his warriors well. But he is not you. I would not trade your affections for his.”

“This is not necessity. He wants us both, yes? We have him together then. What you and I share is precious to me, Missandei. Still, can we not enjoy his company? Can we deny ourselves simple pleasures such as this in times of war?”

“We can.”

“But why should we?”

Missandei hesitates, “We are together in all things, yes?”

“Yes”

“Then we will go to him tomorrow to discuss it.”

“Truly my love?” Grey Worms says his tone eager, hopeful. He kneels at her feet and begins placing tiny kisses on her legs.

“Truly.” She replies rubbing her hands over his short crop of hair. The tiny strands prickly to the touch. 

She thinks of Qhono, his thick thighs, his big hands. She thinks of his hair long and dark. She’s never seen it loose from its braid. Would he wear it out when they lie with him? She thinks of him laying prone beneath her hips, his onyx hair fanned out against the sheets. She thinks of how large he is, how heavy his weight would feel on top of her body. Her breath quickens and she clenches her thighs tightly as a jolt of pleasure shoots through her at the thought. The wet kisses Grey lays on her skin do not help matters.

She’s embarrassed Grey Worm is right here. He is her heart, the love of her life is kneeling before her while she daydreams of another man. What kind of woman is she? 

Grey Worms parts her legs to kneel between her thighs, he drags his fingertips lightly up and down her legs. Teasing the skin of her inner thighs in ways that makes her legs tremble slightly. His rough hands against her soft, sensitive skin feels as amazing as it always does.

“You are so wet.” He says matter of factly as he spreads her wide, and heat rises in her cheeks. 

“You....you always stir me to passion.”

“Yes I do but you know I think, Missandei?”

“What?” 

He releases the ties that bind her robe. He slips the fabric from her shoulders and the shift in temperature causes goosebumps to rise on her skin. Her nipples pebble in the cold or maybe with her arousal she can’t tell. Thoroughly exposed Grey Worm shifts his attentions and pushes a finger inside her slowly, deliberately and smirks when she gasps, pushing her hips towards him. She shifts her weight to her arms trying to get a better position.

“I think Qhono is what has you excited. The thought of being with him. You are thinking about it are you not? How it would feel if he were in my place between your thighs.”

When had Grey grown so bold? Gone is man who shied away from his own nakedness many moons ago on Dragonstone. The way he looks at her now, so confident. Reveling in her growing desperation as she grinds her hips, straining towards his hand. She can feel the flat of his palm hovering so close to her clit but never touching. She tries to silently ask for more, more pressure, more fingers. He denies her, using his left arm to hold her hips still so she can’t get the leverage she needs.

“What are you talk-“ she starts.

“Shhhhh I know what I see. Tell me. Tell me what you want him to do.” 

“Grey I—I don’t know I want him to touch me I suppose. Gods give me another finger, please.” she begs her voice high pitched and needy, she moans as he swipes a second finger through her wet folds teasing her entrance. 

“Give me more details, please?” he says mocking her breathy tone. He crooks his finger inside her just so and suddenly the pleasure is doubled. All she can think about is her need to be filled. 

“I want him to kiss me,” she relents.

“The thought of a kiss leaves you dripping like this? I do not believe you. Try again, Missandei.”

“I imagined him beneath me, within me. He’s probably so big. Is this what you want to hear? I’d ride him I think. I thought of his hair splayed across our sleeping furs...”

He gives her the gift of two fingers now and let’s his palm move just close enough that she can finally grind her clit against him. The pressure is blissfully, blindingly perfect. 

“I’d like that I think, to see you astride him,” he sounds so utterly debauched and she squirms under his gaze. Seeing him fully clothed next to her nakedness, the contrast of his black leathers and her miles of warm brown skin. She sighs as he sinks a third finger inside her, her arousal dripping into his palm. 

“You should ride him too. Shall we take turns?” she replies. 

“Yes we take turns.” He must like the idea. So much so that whatever waiting game he had planned is tossed aside and he pulls her face to his own kissing her wildly while he thrusts and curls his thick fingers inside her. 

“Touch me,” she cries breaking away from his lips. Her hips moving in fast circles against his palm.

“I am touching you.” He teases. She likes it, the subtle humiliation, the way her skin flushes when he forces her to elaborate.

She refuses to take the bait and bucks against him wildly, she can feel her climax approaching. Close. She’s so fucking close. Her nerves are alight with desire, she can feel sweat gathering in a fine sheen across her skin. Her arms feel weak from holding her up to get the leverage she needs. Grey Worm moves with such slow, careful strokes and she feels like she’s dying it’s not enough. She’s almost there. Almost there. 

He spreads the palm of his other hand against her chest and brings his mouth to her nipples. As the warm heat of his mouth envelopes her skin she cries out and he quickens the thrusts of his fingers. 

“Come on love, finish.” he says and her vision blurs for a moment as the intensity of her climax flows through her. Her juices gush around his fingers thoroughly soiling the sheets under her. Her arms give out and she flops back on the mattress. Breathing erratic. 

Grey Worm lifts her and places her higher up the bed away from the wet spot and covers her nudity with furs. She sees him subtly licking his fingers and she shudders a bit. Closing her eyes she breathes deep trying to calm her wildly beating heart. She can hear the faint splashing of water from the basin and the soft clink of his belts as he removes his clothing. She finds herself dozing off ever so slightly when she feels the mattress dip. 

He brings a warm, damp cloth with him and runs it over the plains of her body under the blankets. Cleaning the sweat and cum from her skin. He kisses her shoulder gently and returns the cloth to the basin. His warm body joins hers under the furs moments later and she sinks into his embrace. 

“Tomorrow we tell him yes.” Grey mutters, he still sounds surprised like he can’t quite believe his luck.

“Avy jorraelan, Torgo Nudho,” she whispers in valyrian.

“And I love you, Missandei of Naath.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missandei, Grey and Qhono finally talk about their relationship and spend a nice morning together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not sure if i've conveyed it well but in my mind qhono grey and missy have been sorta dating for a while but missandei has been in denial about it. everyone has been trying to get her to accept the truth because they want to be together for real before this dangerous war with the dead. that's why everything seems a bit fast but its been happening for quite some time.

She slept deeply through the night covered in warm furs and wrapped in Grey Worm’s firm arms. Something wakes her, a sound she can’t place mid slumber. She stirs in Grey’s arms blinking slowly. She hears it again, recognizing it as humming, can feel the vibrations of it against her chest. She cranes her neck a bit to look at Grey Worm and he smiles at her, one corner of his mouth tilting up and all she can think is: Gods he’s so beautiful. The tune is unfamiliar to her but she likes it. She smiles back.

“Finally she wakes.” 

“Is it late?” 

“It’s early morning, the fifth hour, perhaps the sixth. Let us eat and break our fast.”

“Should we go find him now?”

“If you’d like. Today is the start of our war preparations, we will be busy after our morning meal.” 

War. The dead are coming. For a few hours she had let her mind think of nothing but indulgences of the flesh, of new beginnings with beautiful men. Now in the morning light his words make her once again face their purpose here. She turns in his hold to face him, wrapping her arms around his head and tucking him close to her chest. 

“Would that I could keep you here, safe in my arms, safe in these furs,” she whispers, a tear rolling down her cheek. As the saltwater splashes on him he looks up, placing a kiss just below her eye, stealing the wetness away with his lips. 

“The thought of returning to you is what keeps me strong. Will you keep your arms open for me? Your embrace just as warm and tight when I am weary from battle and we have defeated death.”

“I will. Always.”

“Will you make space for Qhono as well?” He eyebrows raised, his eyes holding an amused glint.

She gives a watery smile and pushes him away. She sits up grabbing at her robe that lay discarded at the foot of the bed. Slipping it on to her shoulders she exits the warm cocoon of the blankets and Grey Worm’s heat. She drifts towards the looking glass propped up in the corner of their room and sits at the vanity table there. Their hosts have stocked it with tiny vials of perfume, brushes with silver handles and finely decorated combs. Missandei internally cringes thinking of how torturous that comb would feel in her curls.

“Must everything be a jest?”

“Seeing Missandei cry is not a good start to a morning, if I must jest I will. Still this is not an answer.” 

“I’m sure I can find some room for him.” 

Grey grins triumphantly, vaulting up from the bed in all his nude glory. He begins washing at the basin and she stares at him from her seat. He’s lean in a way that belies the strength in his frame. A subtle curve of muscle in his arms, his thighs thick and firm, his belly tight. He’s so pretty she thinks. My pretty little commander. He approaches her when he finishes, placing his hands in her hair. The curls snagging on his fingers as he buries his hands deep, massaging her scalp. She looks up at him adoringly. 

“Why do you keep it out? You know the cold makes it dry, and fragile,” he says.

“What would you have me do?” She brings a hand up to join him, tugging at a coil. The oils Dany used have faded and the dryness has indeed returned. 

“Ask Qhono to braid it for you,” he replies easily. 

“I am to ask the leader of the dothraki to braid my hair?”

“I am Master of War, General of our Queen’s armies and I have pampered you many times. The Queen herself did your hair just days ago, is Qhono so elevated in your mind? Just yesterday you could not admit you like him,” he laughs, pulling his fingers gently from her hair to go looking for clothes. “Shall I bring him to you before we are to start preparing the soldiers and fortifying the castle’s defenses?”

“Yes please,” she says resigned. 

He climbs into his pants, efficiently clothing himself, arming himself against the chill. He leaves swiftly, his steps quick and full of purpose. The room feels larger, so cold and uncomfortable without his warm presence. She has never grown used to the feeling of being alone. Slaves were not allowed much privacy, most her life spent at her former master’s side. Later she was too busy for privacy, helping Daenerys as her handmaiden/advisor/friend. Or fostering her relationship with Grey Worm through their lessons in the common tongue. Then later spending time with Qhono and Grey together, the two revolving around her almost.

It is so strange to her, she is companion to the Queen, one of her most trusted advisors. She is the partner of a General, the bravest man she has ever known. She is courted by the leader of the dothraki. It is too much. She remembers her days as a simple slave girl, reminded constantly that she was of little worth, that she could be easily replaced. Now she loved by a beautiful man, courted by a second, she is indispensable to her queen, she is desired and respected. Never did she think that this could be her life. Perhaps that is why she shirked Qhono’s attentions for so long. Some things feel too good to be true. In a way it is, she has found happiness in the face of death. In the midst of war, the worst place to find such a thing. 

She is no fool. She knew of Qhono’s affection for her, she has seen his gaze upon Grey Worm. Still she tried her best to keep him at a distance, feeling too greedy to want him in return. Who finds the love of their life and still revels in outside attention? 

Her musings are interrupted when the door swings open revealing Qhono with his arm around Grey Worm’s shoulder. They both carry food with them and Missandei grins seeing them with heads tilted towards each other engaged in a heated discussion about something.

“Everything important in a man’s life must happen under the open skies. This is known.” Qhono says in dothraki with passion, he jostles Grey Worm slightly almost causing him to almost drop the food. 

“So the dothraki do not value privacy at all?” Grey Worm replies in common tongue. He understands dothraki well but the guttural language is difficult for his mouth to form. He stumbles too much so he rarely employs his knowledge. 

Qhono turns away from him and strides toward Missandei ignoring Grey Worm’s incredulous look. “Hello Missandei” he greets, laying the plate of food in his hands before her. His eyes rake slowly over her form and she panics. Her hair mussed and dry, her robe haphazardly tied dipping low in the chest. Her thighs exposed when she crossed them. Quite the impression she must make.

“Hello,” she replies, her voice elevated with nerves. She jumps up brushing past him to wash her face in the basin. Why on earth did she send for him undressed and barely conscious. Securing her robe tighter and patting her face dry with some cloth she turns toward the two men again. Grey Worm sits cross legged on the bed munching on some kind of dried meat idly watching her fiddle nervously with her wild hair. 

“Food is for Missandei.” Qhono gestures to the plate he left at the vanity. He looks vaguely uncomfortable, maybe he’s nervous too.   
She goes to Grey Worm and sits beside him on the mattress, knowing his presence will steady her. “Come sit with us.”

He pulls off his outer layers of leather and fur exposing the tight linen shirt beneath. He joins them, the bed dipping beneath his weight and Missandei is hit with a sudden feeling of rightness. The two men sit on either side of her and she impulsively decides to lean towards Qhono. He gathers her closer to his side.

“So you have thought about it? Will you accept my affection?”

“Yes, I have kept you at arms length for some time now. I thought it was for the best, but if you like us both and we both return the feelings I see no reason to continuing denying us this.” Qhono smiles widely at this pulling her to sit sideways in his lap, Grey Worm moves closer running his hand along her blushing cheeks. 

"It take you so long, why?" Qhono asks.

She takes a moment to consider, "I love Grey Worm very much, our relationship means the world to me. At first I thought my inclination towards you was a betrayal, but slowly I realized that Grey likes you and you like him. Our feelings were all mutual, but still I felt guilty. I feel like I don't deserve to have two men who want me. Deeper still I am scared to let you in my heart because then I will have two soldiers to fret over in the wars to come."

"Missandei deserves everything she desires," Grey Worm interjects, still gently cupping her cheek.

Qhono starts playing in her hair while he listens, shifting her so her back faces him. Gently he parts her riot of curls into three even sections. He braids with practiced movements, weaving the hair absentmindedly like it's second nature. He pulls her hair taut and the end of the braid reaches the middle of her shoulder blades. He guides her hand to hold the ends closed and he pulls a leather cord and bell from his own braid. Taking the hair back from her he ties the ends closed with the leather and attaches the bell to the bit of dangling cord. 

"There, this is better yes?" he asks. 

She can't even see the end result but she's sure she will love it. The pattern more intricate than any she has ever tried on her own. She can feel the warmth of him at her back, he feels solid and true. Grey Worm still sits beside them drifting closer, moving his plate of food from his lap. She turns to face Qhono, straddling his broad lap. The bell chiming softly as she moves.

"Much better," she says reaching her hand out to Grey, linking her fingers with his as her lips touch Qhono's for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The hair braiding is significant form of intimacy in dothraki culture(dany has absorbed this as well which is why her braiding sessions with missy are important too) Do you like these slower more intimate chapters? Next chapter will be less sentimental,more fast paced and move the plot forward but we'll get to see more of grey and qhono's personal dynamic.


	7. Chapter 7

She spent her early morning kissing Qhono, kissing Grey and watching the two of them kiss each other. Being honest with herself certainly does have its upsides. She disentangles from their three way embrace and ventures back to the vanity where Qhono’s humble offering of breakfast lay forgotten. It’s not particularly adventurous fair, boiled eggs and toast probably brought directly from Winterfell’s kitchens. There’s some dried meat there as well that can’t quite identify but she ignores it anyway. 

On Naath they did not eat that which comes from an animal, their diet much more plant based. Missandei has tried to cling to this facet of her people’s culture but she does partake in eggs and milk these days. Still cooked animal flesh sits poorly on her stomach. Quickly consuming the cold foods she sets about preparing for her day, the two men glance at her occasionally but seem loathe to move from their position in each other’s arms. 

She’s looks in the small chest that houses her clothes and finds her favorite ensemble, dark leather trousers that hug her thighs just so, lined with fleece and fur. A black long sleeved tunic, similarly insulated with lacing in the front. The back and sides long but the front short allowing for easy mobility. The sleeves smooth but the bodice is embroidered with scales to represent the house she serves. It’s glorious, every time she dons it she feels powerful and worthy. There is of course small clothes and under layers to be donned as well as her fitted fur coat to go over it all if she doesn’t want to freeze in this tundra but the base is the best part. 

She steps towards the washing basin loosening her robe and prepared to drop it when she remembers Qhono’s presence. She looks over her shoulder at him, suddenly shy again. He is beautiful and though she has experienced the taste of his lips and the warmth’s of his hands in her hair and on her hips, she’s not ready to be so vulnerable before him. Grey Worm must sense her hesitation, always so attuned to her, he pulls himself up from the bed dragging Qhono with him. 

“Missandei, if the Queen does not need you come to the training yard to find us.” Grey says. Qhono looks reluctant like he can’t quite understand the necessity of the swift exit. 

“It is the clothes? Missandei not want me to see her?” He questions, not unkindly just curious. He wandered closer leaving Grey standing at the door.

She thinks of the boldness within her in Meereen so many moons ago. She recalls Grey Worm’s gaze as she washed by the riverbank. The weight of his stare. She stood tall and let him look. Later at Dragonstone it was she who bared herself to him once again when they laid together for the first time. Her hesitation confuses even her. She is not shy about her body. Memories of conversations with Dany come unbidden. ‘The dothraki think outsiders are ridiculous for taking shame in the naked body. They make love under the stars for the whole khalasar to see.’   
“It's complicated, I would like to wash privately today if you don’t mind.” 

“I see Missandei at training yard then.” He places a careful kiss to her hairline and walks out with Grey Worm’s arm around him. 

Hours pass and she has spent much time with her Queen, Varys and Lord Tyrion discussing the general opinion of the Northern lords. There isn’t much of note to discuss but the proceedings drag on and on. And longer still after the arrival of Lady Sansa. The fiery haired Lady of Winterfell is quick, witty and entirely self possessed. Missandei has seen many nobles come to Daenerys with petitions, complaints, even the occasional threat. She has also seen her Queen handle them with grace, rarely faltering, steadfast in her position. With Lady Sansa there is something there, Daenerys is unnerved and for the first time Missandei sees insecurity in her Queen’s eyes. They would do well to gain Sansa’s favor and quickly.   
~~~~~~~~  
With the meeting adjourned, a harried Daenerys retreats to her rooms with the promise of visiting Missandei later. Though the castle’s walls remain confusing she finds her way to the training yards with relative ease. The cold hits her instantly and she shivers lightly regretting the fact that she forgot the gloves Jon Snow gifted her. 

The sound of clashing steel and wood greet her, the yard a chaotic array of soldiers and small drills.   
“LIFT YOUR SHIELDS” Grey Worm’s voice calls out, distinctive in the din. Jon Snow and his friend Tormund stand to his right, Qhono on his left, and at least a hundred North men in front of them. He continues to relay instructions, leading the men through the drills used to train young Unsullied.   
Missandei creeps behind him laying a palm on his back. He stands tall, stance wide and firm. His arms crossed behind him. Qhono’s stance is much more casual but he still exudes danger and strength. Grey Worm turns to her swiftly his gaze hard and defensive at first until he takes in who stands before him. His lips tip upward in a brief smile and he ushers her closer to their group. 

“Hello Missandei” King Jon greets kindly, as Grey leads her to stand squished between him and Qhono. 

“Hello, Your Grace” she responds pleasantly, somewhat distracted by Qhono’s arm around her waist. 

Jon and Tormund glance at the closeness of all three of their bodies, the way Qhono curls himself around Missandei and the intense looks Grey shares with Qhono. 

“Oh” the red haired man states plainly, “You southerners are more interesting than I gave you credit for.” He claps Grey roughly on the shoulder, chuckling all the while. 

“So then you will stay here with me and not go back beyond the wall?” Jon questions, his tone light, as if it’s a joke but Missandei sees desperation in his eyes. 

Tormund turns to Jon placing both hands on his shoulders roughly. “The South smells of pigshit. I need the clean air. I need the true North, we have been over this, pretty little crow.”

“You’ve never even been South.” Jon exclaims indignantly. 

“Winterfell is South of the Wall my boy, do you know nothing?”

Jon shakes free of his grip seeming thoroughly annoyed and addresses Grey Worm, “So why do you believe these drills will help us defeat the dead.” 

“You say they are large in number, yes? If that is the case we shall be easily overwhelmed. Your men fight strong but it is easy for enemies to separate your forces. Large numbers hold no meaning if they cannot get past us. We must become united. We hold them back from the castle. Queen Daenerys can fly over their lines with her dragons and their fire.” 

“How do you plan teach thousands of men these techniques, we don't know how much time we have before the dead arrive?” 

“Everyday I teach group of one hundred. They will relay methods to their fellows and train together. This leave much time for the other men to work on digging the trenches you ordered and repairing the battlements. My Unsullied are working with the Dothraki forces on this as well.”

“Queen Daenerys is very lucky to have you as her Master of War.”

“Thank you...King Jon.” The words seem difficult for Grey Worm, his loyalty so deep that even to speak Jon’s title feels like betrayal. Missandei chuckles under her breath.

Jon just gives him a small but distracted smile as his gaze follows the figure of a dark haired girl, in a sideways cloak and armed to the teeth.   
“Arya” Jon calls to her and she grins at him. She moves to join them but then it seems as if she’s disappeared. 

“Where did she go?” Tormund remarks clearly as stunned as Missandei. A gust of air breezes by her cheek, the bell in her hair chimes softly as do Qhono’s. 

“Hello Jon.” A voice says to the left. She peeks out from Qhono’s shoulder and her grin widens at Jon’s bewildered expression. 

“How do you keep sneaking up on me? I just saw you across the courtyard...I...have I gone mad? Missandei you saw her across the way yes?” 

“Yes, Your Grace,”she replies. Grey pulls Missandei behind him and Qhono rests his hand on the hilt of his curved blade looking down at the girl’s short form.

“Gentlemen please relax this is my sister Lady Arya Stark of Winterfell.”

“I’m not a Lady.”

“Whatever. This is my sister, Arya.”

“Hello,” Missandei says simply. She still cannot believe her eyes but she has seen many strange things in the East. She has touched a dragon once. The world is a strange place, she tries not to question these things. 

“You are...a Faceless Man?” Grey Worm questions in Low Valyrian suspiciously. The Faceless Men are a secret cult of assassins in Braavos what would a Northern lady know of…

“Am I so obvious?” She replies in the same tongue.

“This is explanation for things my eyes do not understand.”

“I have trained with them yes, still a girl is Arya Stark.” 

Qhono comes to stand with Missandei at Grey Worms back and whispers to her in dothraki, “What do these words mean? She is neither faceless nor a man.” 

“The Faceless Men are a group of assassins from Braavos.” The two whisper back and forth about it, Qhono thinks assassins are cowards. Missandei thinks they are fearsome and nightmare inducing. It is a silly cyclical conversation neither conceding their point.

“Qhono will fight Missandei’s nightmares.” He says easily and she laughs loud and bright. He is truly a ridiculous man. 

“Can I spar with you?” Arya asks of Grey Worm.

“Maybe one day.” Grey says vaguely returning to common tongue. “Today the men need instruction.” 

Jon and Tormund standing looking clearly confused because of the use of Valyrian. Missandei presumes they don’t speak it. 

“Grey Worm, Tormund and I shall oversee to the men’s training for the evening. Go rest with your woman, and um your man. Arya can I speak with you alone please.” King Jon says, clearly perplexed, a million questions flashing through his expression but he doesn't ask any of them. 

Grey Worm spares him the briefest glance, nodding once and bids Arya farewell.

She’s finding it difficult to care about battle strategy and drills and assassins when Qhono steps close with his hand on her waist. “You battle imaginary things now?” She teases.

They laugh together and she can feel the deep rumble of his laughter building in his chest. 

“Come.” Grey requests in Dothraki. Startled out of their close embrace they trail after him, and Missandei waves goodbye to their company.


End file.
